by Sean Michael
They danced until the music changed again, and then Rye took his hand and led him back to their table. “You want to play some pool? Have another ginger ale? Call it a night?”
“I think I’m ready to go home, snuggle for a while.” He was full, tired, warm, and things felt okay.
“Cool. I can get behind that.” Rye pulled out some bills, sticking them under his glass, then took Jeff’s hand again, leading him out.
The driver was sitting in the car, snoring away.
Snorting, Rye banged on the window, making the guy jump. Then the back door was held open for him.
“Good nap?”
“Yes, sir. Fab.” The guy backed out. “Good evening?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it was, thank you.”
Rye smiled. “It was great.” Rye put an arm around Jeff and tugged him in.
Jeff leaned over, sighed happily. It had been. Normal and wonderful and different. It was just too bad they were going back to the bus and the tour.
CHAPTER NINE
JEFF WAS napping, and the hum of the bus’s engine threatened to send Rye to sleep as well.
Rye shook his head and grabbed his phone. It was as good a time as any to talk to Jeff’s manager. Just feel the woman out about getting Jeff out of the January business.
Donna answered quickly. “Rye, is everything okay?”
“Everything is just fine.”
He heard the relieved sigh from her end.
“I just wanted to talk about possibilities.”
“Possibilities?”
“About what possibilities there are for Jeff post-Lord January. Have you heard him do his own stuff? He’s amazing.”
“No. No, I haven’t, at least not lately. Why? Is he looking to transition away in the next few years?”
Next few years? Was this lady really this oblivious?
“Let me lay it on the line for you, Donna. This needs to be his last tour.”
“I’ll call and speak to LJ.”
“Don’t you dare guilt him into staying in a job that will kill him.”
“Pardon me?” Her voice went icy. “What did you say?” She was a stone cold bitch, he knew that, but Jeff was too important to back down on.
“He thinks he has to keep doing this thing he hates because there’s all these people who depend on him, that if he doesn’t keep playing January until it kills him, he’s letting you and the whole machine down.”
“LJ and I have been working together for years. Years. You’ve known him three months. I’ll let him make his own career choices.”
“I have no problem with that. I just want to make sure you let him know that he does have choices.”
“Good day.”
Click.
Now, that hadn’t gone like he’d hoped.
Rubbing his face, he got up and paced in the little space he had to do it. God damn it. Why was he the only person in Jeff’s life who gave a damn about Jeff himself?
Well, him and Jeff’s sponsor. Donna had never found him. Had she tried? It didn’t matter if she had or not; he had a guy, a private detective.
Rye went through his contacts on his phone, found Brandon’s number, and texted him the details.
He got a text back with a “got it.”
Leaning back, he closed his eyes a second and let himself relax. It wasn’t hellish. Jeff was doing okay—he was clean, safe, working hard. Rye could see it, though, see the way playing January was killing something inside of Jeff.
It didn’t surprise him that Jeff had turned to the drugs. How else was he supposed to cope? It was a totally unhealthy way of living.
He didn’t think Donna realized quite how hard it all was on Jeff, that the drugs had been his only way of coping, an escape. Rye sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Damn it. He headed for the bed at the back of the bus and sat on the edge of it, smiling down at Jeff.
Jeff cracked an eye open. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. I talked to Donna.”
He didn’t want Jeff to find out from Donna that he’d called her. And Jeff needed to know someone was going to fight for him.
“Why? Are you quitting?”
“God, no. I wanted to ask her about her thoughts on this being your last tour, what she thought about finding you a new gig.”
“And she said she couldn’t discuss business with you, and she’d call me.”
“Basically. I think she was pissed that I suggested you might need a change.”
Jeff shrugged. “I trust her. She’s my manager.”
“I just want her to give you options. That’s all, baby.”
Jeff nodded again, still settled in the covers.
Rye lay down next to Jeff, pulling Jeff against him. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Yeah?”
“I think so. I have you. I have money. I have a job.”
“You don’t like your job, though. You’d be happier with a different one, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve never had a different one.” Jeff looked at him, face still, quiet. “And I might not be a better person as just Jeff, and then what would you do?”
“I’m not asking you to be a better person. I’m just asking you to have a different job.”
“Why?”
“Because this one is killing you, and you don’t like it.”
Jeff stood up, slipped from the bed. “I think I need a shower, Rye.”
“Are you going to run away every time we talk about this?”
“Probably, yeah.”
Jeff headed for the bathroom, seeming quiet, small.
“Baby….” God.
He was worried he was screwing this up. He couldn’t give up, though. This was too hard on Jeff.
He truly believed Jeff needed to give up January to live.
Getting up, he followed Jeff to the little bathroom. “Want me to wash you, baby?”
“I want a hug.”
“I always have those for you.” He opened his arms.
Jeff squeezed him tight, just for a few seconds. “I don’t want to talk about quitting or LJ or anything right now. I’m tired.”
“Okay, baby. We can just stand in the shower and be.” At least Jeff was talking to him.
For now that was going to be enough.
“DO YOU want me to fire him? He’s taken this whole thing about taking care of you too seriously, LJ. You’re not a child. You have to look at your responsibilities and decide what’s best for you.”
Jeff nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m serious. One phone call, and he’s gone.”
“No. No, it’s good.”
Jeff was tired, and his throat hurt, and he felt… like he was fading.
“Are you sure?”
“I am. I need to start getting ready for the show.”
Janie was coming, and it was a big one tonight because they were closing out a festival. The crowd had been there three days, drinking and dancing, and the sound already rocked the bus.
“Okay. Have fun, sweetie,” Donna said before hanging up.
“Uh-huh.” He hung up and went to the bathroom, grateful that Rye was out having a security meeting. He grabbed a razor blade and cut a tiny line on his arm, following an old scar so Rye wouldn’t notice.
It wasn’t a good high, but it was something. He did it three more times, leaning against the bathroom door as he bled, breathing nice and slow.
“LJ? Honey? You ready?”
“Two minutes. Turn some music on? Loud?”
“Sure thing, honey.”
The music came on, loud just like he’d asked.
He washed up, then opened the bathroom door, just a little buzzed. “Okay, lady. I think the bat wing leathers today. It’s muddy out there.”
“All right. Is that big burly man of yours going to be around to help lift them on?” Janie asked.
As if on cue, Rye came in, closing the door firmly behind him.
“He is.” Jeff pul
led on the tight black shirt that went underneath. “Still crazy out there?”
“Bug fuck nuts.” Rye shook his head. “I’m going to be right offstage, okay? I can reach you in two and a half seconds.”
“I’m not worried.” He’d worked worse shows.
“You don’t have to be—that’s my job.” Rye seemed to be trying to keep things light, but his giant was in full-blown protector mode.
They got Jeff dressed in the heavy leathers; they’d protect him from any thrown beer bottles.
“I’m pulling you if it gets too bad.”
“I’ll be fine. We’ve done worse.” He was used to the drama. Hell, he was used to it and buzzing a little.
Grunting, Rye grabbed his chin and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Excited, I guess. Something in the air.”
Rye held his gaze for a long time.
“You want to test me, Rye?” Rye thought he was using. Cutting wasn’t using, though. Was it? Rye would be upset to know he’d done it. Would probably freak right out. Would he leave because of it? Jeff tried not to think about how that thought made everything in him tighten.
Rye answered him, distracting him from his thoughts. “No. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re more animated tonight.”
“I just want to put on a good show.”
“You always do, baby.” Rye glanced back, but Janie was at the front of the bus, talking to Barney. Leaning in, Rye gave him a quick, hard kiss. “You always do.”
Jeff smiled and reached up, held on for as good of a hug as he could get.
“Love you,” whispered Rye.
“Ditto. It’s okay. I swear, it’ll be okay.”
“Stop stealing my lines, baby.” Rye hugged him again, then turned and led him from the bus.
The band was ready, and they went across the back, moving fast. The wind was beginning to blow, storm clouds building.
Rye was a solid giant immediately in front of him, Jeff’s hand on Rye’s back the whole way.
Arriving at the curtain, Rye stepped aside, squeezed his hand, and let him go on.
They hooked him into the harness, ratcheted him up behind the curtain, and Jeff held on to the scaffolding, watching the band set up.
The roadies were starting to hurry, rushing through everything.
He thought he saw a flash of lightning in the distance.
“Come on. Come on,” Jeff muttered. They needed to get a few songs out before the lightning shut them down. Rye had wanted to cancel the show, but he’d flat-out refused, noting that the storm wasn’t supposed to hit until after the scheduled encore.
Things got moving, and they were announced, the crowd surging forward, pushing at the stage. Jeff felt the scaffolding shift—weird.
Then he was flying, and he started screaming out lyrics, the wind pushing him in the air.
Something jerked him, and he dropped suddenly, the ropes coming to a stop about eight feet from the stage. He was still swinging madly, the wind whipping into a frenzy.
He looked back for Rye, but everyone, from roadies to fans, was all scrambling, the stage really moving. Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
The stage was going down. “Roach! Rye! The stage!”
The crowd surged forward again, and sparks flew, the risers letting go.
His ropes held, but he was flung around by the wind, and it felt like he was in the middle of a tornado.
He watched as the back of the stage went, the crowd pouring over the side, wild. Police and security were everywhere. The scaffolding bent, fire catching along the equipment in the wings. Oh fuck.
All Jeff could see as he went down was a writhing mass of people, screaming and reaching for him.
CHAPTER TEN
RYE WATCHED it all happening like it was in slow motion, and his only focus was Jeff.
He was running right for the spot where Jeff went down, but he knew he wasn’t going to be there to catch him.
The fucking crowd was too thick.
Of course, that crowd was going to keep Jeff from slamming into the ground, which probably would have killed him.
Rye waded in, shoving people aside with sheer size and strength. He shouted into his Bluetooth, but he’d be damned if he could hear a damn thing. The roar of people and wind, thunder, lightning, and the stage falling to bits filled his ears, turned almost into white noise.
He pushed two more kids out of the way and grabbed hold of Jeff’s leg, climbing Jeff’s body hand over hand until he had one arm around the slender waist. He wasn’t fucking letting go.
Jeff was still in the harness, knocked out cold. People were pulling at him—tugging and tearing at his clothes, his jewelry, his hair.
Fucking animals.
There was a sound louder than the rest from the back of the stage, sparks flying. Jesus, the whole fucking stage was exploding. Didn’t these kids have any sense of self-preservation? Tapping his ear piece, he tried in vain to communicate with his team.
Rye tugged and pushed, finally getting Jeff out of the harness and into his arms. He shouldered a couple people out of the way, looking around wildly for the best egress. The stage area was in flames, which meant backstage was out.
He turned again, suddenly coming face-to-face with Jude, one of the guys who usually stood in front of the stage and kept the kids off it. Jude pointed to the left, mimed pushing through, and Rye nodded, ready to follow in Jude’s wake.
“My band,” Jeff moaned, then screamed as someone tore at his hair.
Rye kicked out with his foot, hard, and the offender shouted and let go of Jeff’s hair. Rye shifted Jeff, using his shoulder to protect Jeff’s head.
Jude kept moving, slowly but surely, and Rye had to believe the man was leading them to a clear exit where he could get Jeff to safety.
Then he’d go back, get the others.
Lightning flashed, hitting the stage, and everything stopped for a second—his senses frozen, trapped in light and the scent of ozone.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The screaming increased, the fans finally hitting self-preservation and pushing this way and that, scrambling to find a way out of the open-air arena.
Thank fucking God he was as big as he was or he would have fallen, and they both would have been trampled. He still had Jude, though, and he could see now where they were headed; the crowd was starting to thin out as everyone scrambled for safety. He pushed through, his muscles screaming even as the first responders pushed toward the stage.
All of a sudden, the crowd opened up like the venue had spewed them all out into the parking lot.
Jude turned back around. “Bus?”
Rye nodded. If they could get there, get Jeff into the SUV, they could get him to the hospital while he figured out where the rest of the band was. He tapped his Bluetooth a couple of times, amazed it was still attached to his ear. “Sit rep!” He repeated his demand for a situation report a few times, trusting that Jude was taking them to the SUV as quickly as possible. He could see the flashing lights coming from the east, so at least fucking emergency services was here.
“Boss, we got injured, man. Hardcore. Someone stabbed Roach, Brandy’s burned. We need help!” The words were shouted through his earpiece.
“God damn it. Where are you?”
“Back of the stage. The fucking civilians are everywhere. I got a young teenager, girl. Broken leg. I got a couple guys down. Lots of blood.”
“I’m on my way.” He turned to Jude. “Get LJ to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can. And keep me up-to-date on his condition.” Rye settled Jeff in the back of the SUV. “Baby? Jude’s taking you to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Get the others. Help them.”
“I will. And I’ll be there soon. Jude will be with you.” He gave Jeff a kiss, not caring who saw, then closed the door and turned back to Jude again. “Do not leave his side until I get there. No press, no fans, nobody but the doctors
and nurses. Okay. Go. Go.”
“You got it, boss. Be careful.”
He nodded and took one last look at Jeff, who was a hell of a lot better than stabbed or burned. Then he turned back into the fray. God fucking damn it. This was insane. Nobody should have to live through this just to make a few bucks.
He found an EMT and made sure the guy followed him out back; he had at least three people in need of the man’s services. And he imagined that was just for starters.
“I WANT to know what the fuck is going on!”
Jeff was two seconds from total meltdown. His leg was in a cast, his head was stitched up in four different places, and he had three broken bones in his hand where he’d been stepped on. They had him in a room, drugged up and fucking restrained to the bed, just because he’d hit a doctor. The man had hurt him.
He knew everyone was busy, he knew this was crazy, but it was nearly five in the morning and no one knew anything about Rye, about the band, hell, about the other acts that had gone before or the roadies.
“I know it’s not fucking visiting hours! I’ve just spent eight hours pulling people out of a fucking disaster! So don’t tell me to calm down!”
“Rye! Rye!” Jeff bellowed, fighting the restraints.
“Jeff!”
Seconds later, Rye came bursting through the door. “Oh thank God.”
Rye came right up, relieved face turning furious, and Rye turned on the nurse who’d followed him in. “Why the fuck is he restrained?”
“He attacked a physician.”
“Let me go. I was freaked out. I’m okay. Please.”
“Can we undo these, please? Wait a minute.” Rye looked in his eyes. “Jesus Christ, did you people drug him?” Rye leaned their foreheads together. “It’s going to be okay, Jeff, I promise. We’ll get this sorted. I’m going to get you out of here.” Then Rye turned back to the nurse. “Well?”
“I…. Just keep him in the bed, okay?”
Rye nodded. “He’ll be fine. And no more drugs. He’s been clean over a year.” Rye started undoing his bindings. “Jesus. I should have come with you. I should have.” Rye looked tired and dirty, and he had cuts on his face, his hands. And there was an alarming amount of blood on his shirt.